


What Dreams May Come

by 1QueasyCrow



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Gen, cosette/eponine implied, girl's been reincarnated and still her life sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9236921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1QueasyCrow/pseuds/1QueasyCrow
Summary: Éponine can't seem to catch a break.





	

**Author's Note:**

> it appears i am uploading stories in the alternating order of comedy/tragedy and the last one was a comedy, sorry guys...I didn't realize I was Shakespeare until just now

This was supposed to be a happy day.  
When did this happen?  
How did this happen?  
Why'd it have to be me?  
What did I do to deserve this?  
Who is going to miss me when I'm gone?

The bar was awash with drunkards tonight. Of course, the Musain was always awash with drunkards (and impressively stupid ones at that) but tonight seemed different, special perhaps, almost like the "tipsy" patrons were fully drunk and the "drunk" ones were so far beyond shitfaced it was a miracle they were still upright.

Éponine leaned against the bar as she watched the ebb and flow of wobbling patrons moving around the cramped space. There was no way some of these people were making it all the way home tonight on their own.

But that wasn't really her priority concern.

Someone staring a fight _in_ the bar however, definitely was.

Some tipsy idiot hipster who wore his shirt too tight and pants too short was trying to put on his stupid organic knit cardigan when he bumped into one of the shitfaced drunkards behind him. One with an exceptionally bad temper.

Ignoring the giggly "sorry" offhandedly tossed in his direction, the burly giant of a man whirled on the scrawny boy and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with what could only be described as a growl rumbling from his throat.

By now, Éponine, who had jumped the counter, was about to intervene when the smaller participant grabbed his empty bottle and cracked it over the giants head. Éponine cursed, this was going to get ugly.

Stunned but still (remarkably) functional the larger man tossed the source of his pain into the wall and drew his knife.

Well this day just got better and better.

In hindsight, coming up *behind* a very large, very twitchy, very drunk man with a knife? Not usually recommended for longevity. But then again, Éponine never did like to dwell on the past. A guilty fan of YOLO to the end. And what an end it was.

It was quick at least. She didn't mean to startle him but apparently even just "sir" was enough for the armed brute to pivot so fast there was no time to see the blade slice through the air, or Éponine's stomach.

It didn't hurt, not really, well, until she hit the floor, but even then the pain seemed distant as if it were not hers to feel. Clutching at her stomach Éponine felt little more than a slight sting just below her chest and a dull throb from when her head had collided with the table on her way down. The rest of the world also seemed distant, as if her ears had been shrouded with cotton, her eyes with frosted glass. As the seconds ticked forth the effect became more and more viscous. But before the world had gone completely dull a loud voice pulled at the cotton and strong hands shook her body, shattering the glass in her eyes.

Éponine looked up into the face of Grantaire, her best friends expression one of confusion, hurt and, worry as he shouted things to people outside her field of view. She did not register this last emotion as worry for her, because she did not see the life threatening amount of blood that had pooled beneath her in a dreary puddle of oozing crimson.

Despite Grantaires noble efforts at attempting to organize a citizens arrest, as soon as the not-so-gentle-giant caught sight of the red rapidly staining Éponines white work shirt he made a dash for it.

The scene he left in his wake was dire at best but it was a small comfort to know that the cause was gone and the last moments of Éponine's life could play out in peace as Grantaire cried and she looked emptily up at the ceiling.

As Éponine passed from this life she swore she could hear the faintest of sounds.

It was singing.

It was Cosette singing.

It was her lovely lark singing to her.

One.

Last.

Time.

**Author's Note:**

> f*ck but i do hate myself sometimes


End file.
